


Black Out

by Trash



Category: Political Animals
Genre: Angst, Bombing, M/M, Year Zero, character typical self hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-15 00:02:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5764099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TJ hadn't thought it would end this way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Out

**Author's Note:**

> Drive the cloud away,  
> We will fall from last to none.  
> The dark before the dawn,  
> The world will carry on.  
> Look for the light that leads me home.

The White House was in lockdown from way, way before the news broke. But they don't want you to know that. 

TJ is basking in the afterglow of a good fuck, a joint pinched between his thumb and forefinger, when the TV changes from whichever reality show bullshit is showing. 

("The Kardashians?" TJ snorted. "Really?"

His lay finished up in the bathroom and came back into the bedroom drying his hands on a towel stained with hair dye. "It's four in the morning and I'm boosting cable from my neighbour. Beggars can't be choosers."

"I wanted to watch the Oscars. That movie, Silence. It deserves at least three awards."

"Jesus, you are boring.")

His first thought is of his grandma, and he hopes they fixed her a drink before dragging her into that god-awful bunker. His second thought is that he should have probably told someone he is here, though he knows nobody is going to be coming to get him. 

His third thought is, the news anchor guy's suit is especially hideous. 

"Shit," his lay murmurs, standing by the bed on which TJ lounges. "They really bombed us."

TJ looks at him, confused, then back at the TV. The anchor looks pale, his expression pinched. He knows all the protocols, he's ran the drills along with everyone else at the White House, but hearing the words for real is terrifying. He feels cold.

The smell of singeing fills the air and he looks down at his hand, the joint burned down to the filter. He dumps it in the ashtray by the bed and gets up, grabbing his clothes.

"Hey," they guy says. "You heard them. They said to stay in doors."

TJ laughs to himself. "Yeah well. They've only bombed LA. If I'm going to die it isn't going to be here." He pulls on his jeans and fastens them clumsily, trying to hide his shaking hands. Really, he wonders if he will be allowed in the bunker if he gets back quickly enough, even though he knows that the rest of his family will have been down there for hours.

"My mom," the guy says, "my mom is still on shift at Walmart. Do you think they've heard yet? Do you think they'll let her go home?" He paces the room. 

TJ shoves his feet into his shoes and sighs. "Maybe? Look, go fill some containers with water, okay? The water supply should stay on a while, if they bomb us, but not forever." He is halfway out the door, saying over his shoulder. "Eat fresh food first, keep the tinned shit for rations."

And the guy is frantically pressing keys on his cellphone and then holding it to his ear going, "Mom? Mom, it's me."

The streets are mostly deserted, and TJ dodges cop cars all the way across town. He's not far from the bunker when the siren starts, the one that was installed after the threat level changed to red. The siren wails, and TJ has the sensation of trying to catch water in his hands. Sand through an hour glass. Time's up. 

This isn't how he had imagined it happening, but then a lot of things aren't. He hates himself suddenly, thoroughly. 

The siren wails and wails and TJ runs through the empty streets with tears on his face, arms out stretched. Let the bombs rain down, he thinks. Come and get me. 

Then there's the sound of a jet. Then there's nothing.


End file.
